"Red's trying to sober him up," Gilbert said.
They had had enough of the cook, Pell decided within himself. Dinner was
inevitably late, and that was all there was about it. So he changed the
subject abruptly.
"This ranch belongs to you, doesn't it?" he put the question direct to
Jones.
"What's that?"
"I asked you," went on Pell, a little disconcerted at having to repeat his
question, "if you own this ranch."
"I--er--yes. Why?" Gilbert said.
Pell was quick to notice the other's discomfiture. "I have a friend who
thinks he wants to go into the cattle business. He asked me to look him up
a place. It's his own money, of course."
"Then I'd advise him not to buy here," said Gilbert, much to Pell's
amazement.
"Why?"
"It's too near the border," Jones answered. "The bandits come over and
steal all your cattle. It's a rotten situation. I'm sorry I ever came down
here."
"That makes it all the better," Pell was shrewd enough to say. "Then he'd
lose his money quick, and be satisfied." And he laughed at what he thought
a witticism.
Uncle Henry's wheel chair crossed the sill at that moment. His face was
full of news. "Hardy's coming!" he informed those in the room.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94